Dinner Date
by TheChemistJorax
Summary: It only happened once, the commander eating in her XO's office, but somehow it was all the crew of the Normandy could whisper about for days.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I can't tell if this is boring or not. Just a wee thing that popped into my head while eating dinner. No relation to the 'perfect series' whatsoever.

* * *

It only happened once, the commander eating in her XO's office, but somehow it was all the crew of the Normandy could whisper about for days.

It started one evening just a bit after Gardner had announced that dinner was ready. The dextro-amino servings were called first, as there was less to make and so it was easier to prepare, and then the humans slowly trailed in after. There was no real set time of course, but even still everyone seemed to come together at once. Shepard had successfully created a sense of unity aboard the ship, and as a result the people around her seemed to relish in each other's company. They would meet each dinner for mediocre food and bland drink, laughter and merriment abound. It was a happy routine, enjoyed by all who took part.

The day it happened however, Shepard had stepped off the elevator and noticed that a trend had begun to take place. It was not the first time she rounded the corner to find the majority of her crew present without Miranda's company. In fact, she noted, it had been four days since she had left her office during dinner at all.

Shepard knew what had happened four days ago, as did everyone else on the ship, which was likely the reason for Miranda's absence. Certainly, there was no great love for Jack resounding through the hearts and minds of those serving on the Normandy. That did not mean they did not understand or sympathize with her however. Miranda's refusal to truly acknowledge the wrongdoings of Cerberus involving Jack's past, united with the rather violent argument that followed, had turned many heads. It would be fair to admit the support for Jack's 'side' had been overwhelming, a sentiment that the commander herself shared.

Still, to vilify a single woman for the actions of others was not a behavior Shepard condoned. She questioned Gardner as she retrieved her plate, and found that the woman had indeed been making snack runs in the dead of night when the risk of bumping into her crewmates was low. Troubled by the information, Shepard bypassed her expectant companions seated at the table to head for the cabin door.

She entered without knocking of course, as had become standard protocol. Nothing on any version of the Normandy seemed to ever be off limits to the great Commander Shepard, no matter who had paid for it. The resident hadn't been prepared for company, let alone a visit from a superior. The hour was relatively late, and so she lay atop the covers of her bed, barefoot and pantsless, an obnoxiously large book in hand. Only when the door closed behind Shepard did Miranda move, sitting up suddenly, reading material long forgotten as she pulled down the over sized shirt to reclaim her modesty.

Shepard smiled at the response, leaving her plate on the officer's desk before retreating from the room. Miranda breathed deeply, running a hand through her hair as she sorted through her distress. In just a few moments the door opened again as Shepard had returned quickly, a cup of water in each hand, the handles of two forks wedged between her lips. She set the cups on the short table in front of the couch, before removing the utensils and moving back for the plate.

After she was comfortably seated on the couch, plate in hand, extra fork resting on the table, Shepard gave Miranda and expectant look. The woman shook her head quickly, exuding defiance even as her traitorous stomach called out for attention. That earned a laugh from the intruder, which in turn led to the frantic and futile struggle with keeping the red from one's cheeks. As the woman on the couch shrugged and began to pull food into her mouth, Miranda's resolve weakened. With each bite it wavered until suddenly, unbelievably, she found herself just a cushion away from her commander, fork in hand.

It felt like a defeat, an admittance that gave way to some form of weakness, and had anybody else pushed her in such a way they would not have been treated so civilly. But Shepard was Shepard, and one did not destroy two years of hard labor in a fit of simple irritation. With such a woman it was far more sensible to play their game. To talk their talks and follow the orders issued no matter the inconvenience. Miranda did as the woman bid, not out of desire, but out of duty, and no matter how many times her heart insisted otherwise, she would always believe that.

Shepard didn't speak, even as Miranda consented to her offer and began to share the plate. There was no triumphant laugh, no knowing smirk or insufferable smugness. There was only a grateful smile, one that unnerved the other woman. In no way was somebody allowed to be appreciative that she was taking care of herself, the very thought was obscene.

Miranda watched as the other woman bounced happily as she chewed, a slight movement that somebody observing might have described as cute or charming. Not Miranda of course, other people. She found her mind drifting to the insignificant things, how she stabbed but Shepard scooped, how Shepard gulped but she sipped. Stupid things, little nuances that distracted from the big picture.

That huge thing, that enormous uncertainty that was growing by the instant. It was a rarity for Miranda- no, more than that. A completely new thing, indescribable in its novelty. There was no name she could attribute to it, no classification. It was an emotion, curling its way through her skin, making the smiles brighter and the glances more concentrated.

Miranda wanted to say something as the time passed and the plate emptied, every inch of her mind screamed to rip apart whatever was occurring. It was new, unprecedented, it could not be good. She shivered as the commander's eyes raked over her cabin, combing its contents with such attentiveness that Miranda felt almost unbearably exposed. Sometimes the eyes would stop their journey and Shepard would smile, or nod, or maddeningly look as though she were holding back a laugh. At those times it took every ounce of Miranda's willpower not to turn in her seat and follow the line of sight. She needed to not look bothered, needed to prove she wasn't fazed.

It was nothing, this, it was only dinner. Miranda was able to remind herself of that periodically up until the moment their eyes locked over the plate. Shepard's attitude was different then, more embodying a comfortable sage than a careful explorer. The woman had obtained a new knowledge in her visit, one that Miranda wasn't able to consciously fathom, but was feeling the effect of. That emotion, that _feeling, _was feeding off their locked gaze, it was absolutely gorging itself.

Miranda, against all of her instincts, against everything she had ever been taught by both others and herself, could not bring herself to smother it immediately. No, she broke every rule she had ever created, and let it grow. It expanded as the seconds passed, and only when it grew so big, when she felt so warm she could hardly stand it, did she look away.

It was some time before she could turn back towards the plate, some pull inside of her urging to make this last for as long as she was able. Though it confused and alarmed her, though she was sure she would never fully understand it, she obliged, eating as slowly as possible. Even still, with the extra effort, it wasn't long until there was but a single noodle left on the plate Shepard held between them.

Miranda eyed it carefully, as though it might be some sort of trap. She found she didn't know how to proceed from here, she wasn't sure of the proper protocol. When she glanced up at Shepard to try and get more of a grasp on the situation, she found the woman grinning down at her wildly. Not one of the reassuring smiles on the battlefield or the satisfied smirks after a particularly bad joke that Miranda had grown accustomed to, but a new expression. One that was mischievous and feral and full of what Miranda was sure was some sort of fiendish intent. In a flash it was in her mouth, and Shepard chewed the final bite with delight, never taking hers eyes off Miranda for an instant.

It was nearly impossible to suffer through the silence then, and Miranda wasn't sure how she had made it. She was hot, uncomfortable, and maybe a little itchy. As Shepard's eyes trailed off into some unknown corner of the room Miranda was tempted to shift along the couch, or perhaps to scream. She needed something, anything, any sort of way to break the air that had settled between them. All at once, Shepard was too close though she had hardly moved an inch since she first sat down. Nevertheless, panic was beginning to bubble up into Miranda's throat. The longer they waited, the worse it became, until suddenly, the stillness was broken.

"You know," Shepard's words ripped through the silence with such a disturbingly thoughtful resonance, Miranda was forced to be alert and calm, certain something vital was to be said. Something that gave their shared silence shape, formed it into meaning. How could they sit together, conversing with closed mouths for so long a time, only to move forward into nothing? There was going to be a revelation, an explanation as to why this was affecting her so. Why there was that pull in her stomach, that incomprehensible sense of anticipation for some unknown outcome.

"you're quite short," She licked the fork in her hand with one slow motion, "when you're not in heels."

The tight bundle of expectation curling in her core unfurled throughout her body, reaching to her very fingertips as the cool realization of disappointment swept through her veins. Whatever had been occurring dissipated in an instant, a slow building ire quickly taking its place. All thoughts of the foreign feeling were forgotten when the low tides of annoyance began sweeping higher over her mind.

Shepard stood then, the fork was clean, the cups were empty, and the last noodle was gone. She collected the dishes resolutely, stacking them neatly atop one another before flashing a warm smile and turning towards the door. It wasn't until she had almost reached the door that she paused, turning back to observe the woman on the couch.

"They don't hate you, you know," Shepard finally said. "Sit out there; open your mouth a bit. I don't expect lifelong friendships, but who knows? They might be surprised."

Miranda watched her silently, unsure of how the words made her feel. That feeling was gone, yes, and annoyance was certainly taking over more quickly with each phrase Shepard uttered, and yet… there was a linger of that nameless emotion, something that the woman who was raised to know everything, had never experienced.

"Me," she corrected quietly, always having the last word, always being correct.

Shepard's head tilted slowly, "What?"

"I believe," Miranda's confidence grew with the knowledge of superiority, she was in familiar territory, the affirmation that somebody had made a mistake that she now was charged with correcting, "you meant to say that _I _might be surprised."

With a curious laugh, one that bubbled forth and swept away all traces of agitation or confidence, Shepard responded easily, "I would never make the mistake of assuming you could ever be surprised, Miss Lawson."

It was the moment when Shepard was leaving her room, when Miranda traced her movements with roaming eyes, lingering in all the places she shouldn't, that the officer realized something quite surprising about herself indeed. As the door closed she wished with every fiber of her being that she could prove to her commander just how wrong she was.

* * *

A/N: I tend to enjoy writing dialogue so I wanted to force myself to try something different. More serious than I'm used to, so I don't really know how to feel about it. *sigh* I'm too immature for this stuff. Anywho, can you guys tell that I'm obsessed with the inner workings of Miranda's mind yet?

This is going to remain open until I finish my series and see if I want to get back to it. But for now, consider it a one-shot I suppose.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This is for Sillylilbit, who told me to stop procrastinating and write some more. Clearly I took what they said to heart as I immediately procrastinated, and did not write for days. Hooray for me.

Anywho, just a heads up this is going to be _way_ more character based than plot based. I have no idea what I'm doing to be honest; I sorta just sat down and started composing. It could turn into something more eventually, but for now it's kinda just a stream of consciousness type deal. Hopefully that doesn't disappoint any of you.

P.S. Remember that time I was going to write something that was serious? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

GOOD JOKE

* * *

Crush. It was an odd concept, more foreign than compelling, and most entirely unwelcome. For the first twenty four hours following their impromptu meal, Miranda tried to pinpoint the exact source of her newfound emotions. Though she was not consciously aware of it, her mind spent the majority of that time attempting to convince itself that it was a physical attraction. Though those were not a common occurrence in her history, it certainly would be an excusable turn of events. After all, one cannot help who their body desires. It is a complex blend of factors, compatibility, circumstance, and a whole mess of hormones.

That was it, explained away. Over and done with. Out of her mind.

Except that _wasn't _it.

Miranda had never felt an ounce of physical attraction towards Shepard before. Not because the woman wasn't conventionally attractive objectively speaking, but because Miranda's mind simply wasn't wired that way. She had never gone around developing attractions to women. It was not a concept she was opposed to, just one that had never risen as an option. Of course Miranda was not too proud to admit that there is a first time for everything, but it just wasn't true. It simply was not a physical thing.

That was probably more frightening than anything.

If she were to admit defeat, to rule out the physical, then only one option remained. The new draw Shepard possessed had arisen from an emotional connection. It was disconcerting to say the very least, but as time wore on it began to seem like an inevitable true. Though Miranda was not quite ready to admit it to herself, she liked Shepard. She enjoyed their rapport despite her better sense, that grudging respect that had formed between them, accented with snide comments and challenging debates was all together rather refreshing.

Friendship, that was what they had built, and apparently some part inside of Miranda wanted more. It was humiliating to think about really. Shepard was constantly undermining her at every turn, and yet she found herself being half as bothered by that as she should have been.

It was all Shepard's fault of course, this infuriating infatuation. She was the one who had pursued Miranda despite the woman's obvious reluctance. She was the one who had always pushed for more information; chipping away at the walls of Miranda's resolve until she had learned all there was to know. She was the one who had to be so goddamn helpful and considerate all the time.

Even now, Miranda sat on her couch beside the woman, purposely keeping as much distance in between them as she possibly could. She had not intended for this to happen at all. This is what came of letting your guard down and making shoddy attempts at humor during working hours, she supposed. Shepard had returned, battered and bruised from her latest foray planet side, Garrus and Tali limping behind her and looking sheepish. Quite a few structures and been blown to pieces. Inadvertently, the commander had assured Miranda.

All she said was one little comment; she could not even remember exactly what it was now. Some sarcastic thank you and a half hearted lament at how much these incidents were adding to her workload. It was true of course, explosions and surprise demolitions often doubled report lengths at the very least, but that hadn't been Miranda asking for assistance. She could handle her duties just fine thank you. It was just some things had been slipping through the cracks as of late, they were churning out missions at a thankless pace, and Miranda often found herself in personal attendance on quite a few. Naturally, the paperwork simply wasn't getting done as quickly as it used to be.

Of course, Shepard being Shepard, the woman was not able to just laugh the comment off and continue on with her own duties. Instead, she had remained with Miranda after their usual debriefing session and took a crack at tackling one of the unfinished reports from the pile of data pads that were beginning to clutter up her XO's desk. Though Shepard clearly had no flare for the art of the written word, Miranda was grateful that the woman deliberately chose to work on Jack's personal operation that involved blowing up her old prison. Miranda had not been making that a priority, as thinking of the event and the argument that had quickly followed left a sour taste in her mouth.

In the end, Shepard really was not much help. She interrupted Miranda's own work constantly, having to ask questions about formatting concerns, delivery style, and the proper protocol to follow. Not to mention the fact that Miranda quickly realized she would have to proof read every single section Shepard had worked on before turning it in. Somehow, in between sentences describing their methods and results, little bits of _unprofessionalism _were creeping through. Miranda found herself deleting the phrase, 'The Illusive Man smells like poop', more than once that night, while Shepard shrugged, insisting that she was absolutely bewildered as to how such a vulgar statement had made its way into her work.

Miranda tried her absolute hardest to be annoyed, she really did. But in the end, she found her tolerating the woman late into the night, hating herself for how grateful she felt for the company. It was an obscene hour when they had caught up on everything, and Miranda was not even thinking about the fact that had Shepard left her alone she could have most likely finished the process in half the time. No, that wasn't even on her radar because there had been so much laughter between them. There was teasing and mock annoyance and a whole lot of chatter and somewhere along the lines they had moved together, elbows bumping and thighs brushing.

It was unnerving, the wave of disappointment that washed through Miranda when it was apparent that it was time for Shepard to depart. She had nothing left to offer, no reason for the woman to stay, and she hated herself for wishing she had one to give. Shepard left with a good natured wave, and Miranda found herself feeling more confused than she had ever been in recent memory.

When it came to matters of the more intimate sort, Miranda was far from a novice. She could read body language with ease, and was a professional when it came to finding the hidden meaning between the words of both friends and pure strangers. Yet she found herself puzzled when it came to the nuances of Shepard. The woman seemed completely comfortable with her, not intimidated in the slightest. She frequently teased Miranda in a playful and affectionate manner, yes, but she seemed to do that with all of her crewmates.

In fact, at times Miranda had the sneaking suspicion that being so friendly and warm was merely how Shepard operated, and that she was not affected by Miranda in the slightest. It was a more humbling revelation than a disheartening one. In all her long life Miranda had always been the one pursued, she had never really had to ever put the effort into going after a specific person. Of course, those had all been brief sexual encounters, as more often than not the person would prove nearly intolerable outside of the bedroom.

With a heavy sigh, Miranda decided to retire for the night, knowing she had already lost too much sleep as it was. She lay down in her bed unenthusiastically, repeating a steady, if not unconvincing, mantra within her mind.

It didn't matter if Shepard was interested in her or not, because no matter what nothing was going to happen.

It didn't matter if Shepard was interested in her or not, because no matter what nothing was going to happen.

It didn't matter if Shepard was interested in her or not, because no matter what nothing was going to happen.

It didn't matter if Shepard was interested in her or not, because it's not like she had the courage to make anything happen.

It didn't matter if Shepard was interested in her or not, because knowing Shepard it would probably just turn into a big joke.

It didn't matter if Shepard was interested in her or not, because Shepard was an ass.

It didn't matter if Shepard was interested in her or not, because she hated Shepard's stupid face.

It didn't matter if Shepard was not interested because if Shepard wasn't then it was her loss.

It didn't matter if Shepard was not interested because she could do _way_ better than some undead Alliance puppet.

It didn't make sense for Shepard not to be interested in her because she was Miranda Lawson.

Why wasn't Shepard interested in her? She was a fucking catch.

Miranda tossed and turned that night feeling annoyed, confused, frustrated, nervous, just a bit angry, maybe a tad nauseous, and utterly exhausted. The last thought she remembered obsessing over before sleep carried her away was that if this was the feeling of being in love, she had been positively accurate in deciding all those years ago that it most certainly was not for her.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Ah poop jokes. I'm glad you guys are accepting the ridiculousness and humor. It warms my heart.

Ugh I should really be doing some paid work…but…but…futuristic lesbians in space! How is a girl supposed to resist?

* * *

It was the days following that night when the real trouble started, because at least before then she had remained some semblance of herself. But now, with every moment that wore on Miranda was feeling more and more out of place in her own skin. She was behaving in a ridiculous manner, and the worst part of it was that she felt out of control. At this point, she was trying her hardest to actively _dislike _Shepard.

Miranda would focus on her stupid infectious laugh or zero in on that god awful upbeat attitude. She tried to focus on the bad and instead wound up only obsessing over the good. Shepard was not nearly as intelligent as she was. Yes. That was a thing. Except it wasn't, because Shepard was a genius in the ways that mattered, she was a master at reading people. Not simply their intentions, as Miranda did, but their aspirations and personality quirks. She knew just what to say and when to say it to get any person in the universe on her side. It was never cruel manipulation either. Shepard was always straightforward and honest.

Miranda _hated _herself for admiring that so much.

It was the rest of the crew that eventually pushed Miranda over the edge. She liked most of them well enough, save for a few exceptions.

Okay, save for Jack.

It was just the way Shepard obsessively visited them. Miranda was really starting to scare herself because she was starting to feel entitled to the visits personally. She wanted as much time with Shepard as possible, but she was far too proud to ever request it. And so, more often than not, she had to settle for letting cold disappointment wash over her when Shepard would end a discussion to go check up on Thane or Grunt. Or she would have to silently seethe when she had been enjoying a conversation in the mess hall with the commander and Garrus or Jacob decided to grab a seat and butt in.

And for heaven's sake what did Jack have to talk about that was so interesting that Shepard felt compelled to descend in to the bowels of the ship after every mission?

Currently, Miranda sat in the empty mess hall, stirring a mug of tea absently as her thoughts slipped away from her. There was a data pad resting on her lap but she found herself unable to give it much attention. It was just one of those nights, she supposed. The work was too dull and the universe too perplexing for her to really offer anything much focus.

The sound of the elevator doors opening startled her, as the hour was so late she hadn't been anticipating company. Miranda listened carefully, and could make out the distinctly serene voice of Samara on the other side of the wall. So they were back then, she and Shepard had returned from whatever their private little mission had been.

"Not tonight, Shepard," the Asari was saying gently. Miranda was surprised at the uncharacteristic emotion bubbling over in every word. "Perhaps we will discuss it tomorrow."

There was a heavy sigh from Shepard. "Okay, if that's what you want." There was a moment of hesitation then. "Just let me know if you need anything. It doesn't matter what time it is."

"Thank you, Commander."

When she heard the heavy footsteps of Shepard's boots approaching around the corner Miranda quickly made herself look busy with the data pad, nervous of being accused of eavesdropping. She was glad to see that Samara had retired to her quarters, and that only Shepard was approaching.

"Oh," Shepard said upon glancing over to discover Miranda seated at the long table. "What are you still doing up?"

Miranda shrugged casually. "Catching up on some work." It was a lie, yes, but a little one. That hardly counted.

Shepard moved over to their little makeshift kitchen area and began to rummage around, "Again? Why don't you try catching up on some sleep instead?"

"I'm not tired," she responded honestly.

"At least take a break once in awhile," Shepard grumbled in irritation as she searched fruitlessly for any sort of sustenance. "Why does nobody tell me to restock until we are _already _out of food?" she suddenly snapped.

Miranda chuckled, "rough night?"

Groaning, Shepard gave up and moved to sit across the table from Miranda. "I have never been so," her head swiveled from side to side as if she were searching for the correct words, "_unqualified_ for a job before."

Raising an eyebrow, Miranda leaned forward onto the table in interest. "What exactly happened out there, Shepard?" She was a bit taken aback at how distressed the woman seemed. It was not often Shepard had encountered something on a mission that made her personally uncomfortable. Angry, maybe, upset at times perhaps. But never uncomfortable.

Shuddering at the memory of the night's events, Shepard tried to pull together the words. All she could think about was the look in Morinth's eyes. She had not felt attracted to the Asari in the slightest. The entire night she had struggled to sit through her insane prattling about danger and power. More than anything Shepard had wanted to be back on the Normandy with her friends. In the end though, in those last few moments, something had started to happen. There was a pull in the Asari's gaze, a magnetic force that Shepard had been unable to escape. Her mind had been screaming at her to stop but it didn't matter. Shepard's body had completely escaped her mind's influence. If Samara had not come, it was clear what would have happened. More than anything, the commander honestly felt a bit violated.

It was hard to escape the powerless feeling of that moment. Even now Shepard felt smaller, weaker somehow. Looking up at her companion, she tried to figure out a way to word her emotions. Suddenly, she was rather embarrassed in front of Miranda, as she took the woman in. She was quite obviously attractive, and it was clearly a fact that the Illusive Man kept in mind. Shepard felt like an idiot, wanting to complain about a brief flirtatious encounter when the Cerberus operative had probably been asked to do so much more on numerous occasions.

The thought saddened Shepard. Miranda was so loyal, so eager to please the few people she respected, she probably did whatever was asked of her with little hesitation.

"It was nothing," Shepard finally replied. "I was just a bit out of my comfort zone."

Miranda could tell she was holding back, but eventually decided to let the issue die. She didn't want to press her luck and push her commander too far. Although, Miranda thought bitterly as she remembered all the times Shepard had forced her to reveal some of her own more closely guarded secrets, it was not like the woman gave her the same courtesy.

"Well," Shepard said with a forced smile, clearly attempting to break the awkward air that was hanging between them, "I'll shut up so you can get back to it."

Miranda looked down on the irrelevant data pad with disdain. "It's nothing important, Shepard. I was hardly getting anything done before you showed up anyhow." She reached forward for her mug and cradled it in her hands carefully.

"Are you okay?" Shepard questioned with a teasing smile. "I thought unpaid overtime was your favorite hobby?"

Miranda scoffed as the woman laughed, though her annoyance was purely playful. "I've been known relax every now and then."

"Like how?" Shepard asked while propping her elbows up on the table, chin resting in hands. Miranda was thrown off by how serious she had suddenly become. It was no longer a game, she was genuinely curious. "I never see you do anything purely for enjoyment."

"Just because you don't see me focusing on things apart from work does not mean it doesn't happen. I would be a pretty poor employee if you caught me goofing off on a regular basis, wouldn't you say?" She took a sip of her drink, and then scrunched her nose up in disgust. The tea had long since gone cold.

Shepard laughed at her expression of revulsion. "You have me there, I suppose. So tell me, what am I missing?"

With a sigh, Miranda set the mug back on the table. "There is not much to talk about, I'm afraid."

"I know you read a lot," Shepard prompted. "What else?"

Miranda shrugged, and then sat back against her chair as her nerves quickly began to get the best of her. What could she say? There really was not much else to her. "I do not need much else, Shepard. I find enough fulfillment in the work I do," she finally said. At least it was a half truth.

"I doubt that," Shepard challenged easily.

Feeling defensive, Miranda crossed her arms. "What does that mean?"

Shepard tilted her head quizzically, "That I think there's more to you than the work you have done, impressive as it may be. You're deeper than the organization you represent."

Miranda shook her head; it always came back to this. "If you're yet again attempting to rework my opinion of Cerberus I think it's best that we end the discussion right here."

Despite the laugh Shepard gave in response as she leaned back, mimicking Miranda's pose, the woman was struck by how utterly exhausted her commander looked in the dim lights of the room. Her face was creased with worry and her eyes were dull with lethargy. "I don't have a hidden agenda, I assure you. I was merely suggesting you were a person with agency outside of structured obligations."

Miranda idly twirled the spoon about the cool liquid in her mug despite the fact she no longer intended to consume it while she considered Shepard's words. They hurt, if she were to be honest. She was certain the woman had meant no harm, quite the opposite in fact, but that didn't stop the painful sting in her chest from expanding. Shepard was wrong; take away Cerberus and Miranda really was not much of anything.

"One would think," she couldn't help but mutter bitterly. She regretted the words as soon as they escaped her lips as immediately Shepard's face fell into a deep frown.

"You really believe that, don't you?" she seemed almost mystified by the idea.

Miranda futilely fought against the blood rushing to her face. "It doesn't matter either way," she said quickly as she dropped her gaze to the floor.

"I think it does."

Miranda had to put a lot of effort into not punching Shepard. She didn't need a psychological evaluation, thank you very much. Also, it was getting unbearably infuriating, all of this unwelcome concern. Miranda was a grown woman. She didn't need somebody making sure she was eating properly and getting her work done. She didn't need a person making sure she was getting enough sleep. And she most certainly did not need somebody making it their personal mission to improve her sense of self worth.

Miranda knew who she was, and she knew where she fit in the world. There were missions to complete, experiments to oversee, and data to collect. Those were the things expected of her. That was what she needed to do. Everything else was frivolous. Perhaps it was enjoyable or comforting, yes, but ultimately expendable.

When Miranda showed that she had no inclination to respond, Shepard decided perhaps it was best to press onwards. "Have you made contact with Oriana at all?" she asked with as much nonchalance as she was able to muster considering her concern. It seemed Miranda was more prone to reply to personal questions when Shepard pretended to be less invested in the answers than she actually was.

For her part, Miranda had caught on to the game Shepard was playing. She knew what the woman was trying to do. You are a professional, she was implying, but you are also a big sister. Though her flaky and unreliable conversations with her sister had been going well, it wasn't a concrete thing to hold on to. Her heart was overflowing with affection for her younger twin, yes, but their bond also served as a constant reminder of the life that was stolen from her at birth. Oriana was getting everything Miranda had dreamed about when she was a child herself, and though she detested it, bitterness was always lurking in the back of her mind.

"Yes," she admitted at length. "Her family seems content with their new accommodations."

"I'm glad," Shepard responded with a soft smile, and warmth spread through Miranda at once because she knew the woman's reply was completely authentic. Shepard genuinely cared about what had become of Oriana, just as she appeared to genuinely care about Miranda herself.

"Shepard, I-" Miranda began suddenly and then stopped short. What could she say? Shepard was looking at her with such interest, waiting to hear what came next, and for the first time in her life Miranda could not fathom what did. She had no idea what she should say. 'I think I might like you'? It was so juvenile, so not her. And what happened if Shepard pulled away from her? What if this tentative friendship was tarnished?

That's when Miranda realized, as much as she wanted to get closer to Shepard, she was afraid of scaring her off. It felt like such a weak fear to have, but Miranda knew that if Shepard rejected her, she would go back to being alone. She didn't know if she could handle that.

"I think we should get some rest," she finally finished.

"That sounds like a good idea to me," Shepard replied and she stood up to stretch with a loud yawn. "Goodnight, Miranda."

"Goodnight, Shepard."

As the woman headed for the elevator Miranda moved over to the kitchen area, bitterly dumping the cold tea down the drain before she retired into her cabin.

**_Bloody coward._**


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Admittedly not a huge fan of this one. I just want to get on to the more entertaining stuff next chapter so I kinda want to rush to put it up. I dunno, I just wasn't really feeling it… ah well.

* * *

As soon as the doors opened and she stepped into the room, Miranda knew the decision had been a stupid one. She had been trying to be spontaneous, attempting to be everything she usually wasn't. That in itself was not the worst idea she had ever had, when one tactic was proving ineffective obviously the smartest choice was to switch to another more efficient one. The problem was, now that she was acting on that spontaneity, she was not sure what came next.

Shepard was sitting at her desk, deeply engrossed in her latest purchase: yet another ship model to add to her growing collection. Though Miranda knew it might not be the most effective use of their funds, she had defended the acquisitions when they were brought into question by the Illusive Man. They kept Shepard occupied and content in the long hours between missions, which qualified them as an asset in her book.

Hardly glancing away from the pieces in front of her, Shepard greeted her guest warmly. Miranda moved a bit closer. She had decided to come up almost immediately after they had returned from their latest diversion; it just took a few hours before she worked up the nerve to actually do it. Tali had had some personal problems that she needed to deal with, and of course Shepard had volunteered the crew at once. It was impressive, to say the least, watching Shepard stand up in front of the Conclave despite her lack of substantial preparation time. They had gotten Tali settled back into the Normandy quickly and all was well.

"I was hoping to discuss some things with you, if you have some free time," Miranda said quietly. She _really _needed to figure out just what those things were, and swiftly. There was no reason to be so juvenile, she attempted to remind herself. Being withdrawn and shy was benefitting her in no way whatsoever. She needed to find her usual poise once more.

Yeah, sure. That was feasible.

No, focus. Shepard was even-tempered and approachable, simply relaying how she had been feeling should be no problem at all. It was nothing. A simple proposal of sorts.

Shepard's hands were shaking ever so slightly as she attempted to attach the right wing of the ship she was creating where it belonged. It appeared as though success was in her grasp, when all of the sudden the left wing began to droop as the glue failed and fell to the desk top with a clatter. Shepard groaned and threw her hands up in exasperation, cursing loudly, which gave Miranda the impression that she had been at it for quite some time.

"If I knew the Destiny Ascension was going to be so annoying I would've just let it blow." As soon as the words were out of her mouth she looked remorseful. With a heavy sigh she looked up at Miranda apologetically, "Sorry. I've been told my humor can get mean when I'm frustrated."

Miranda offered a small smile, letting her know the comment hadn't bothered her in the slightest. Shepard rolled her neck from shoulder to shoulder and wiggled about a bit in her chair to re-motivate herself before setting back into her work with renewed vigor. Miranda desperately wished she would stop being so endearing, it was quite distracting.

"So," Shepard drawled out without looking up from the model, "what can I do for you, Miss Lawson?"

The woman was so intent on her project that she was unable to witness the flash of terror that passed over Miranda's features. She suddenly didn't feel so confident in her proposal any longer. The cabin was beginning to feel quite small all of the sudden, and hot. Why was it so hot? Did Shepard keep it this hot on purpose?

Miranda shifted from leg to leg, painfully aware of the fact nobody was talking. Shepard was engrossed in her work, but eventually she would catch on to the fact that Miranda was just standing there, staring at her stupidly. Self consciously, she took a step back. She kind of wanted to sprint away as quickly as possible and pretend this had never happened. Oh god, how she loathed herself. This was so very moronic.

"Miranda?" Shepard was looking up at her curiously, a hint of concern shinning through her eyes.

Attempting to salvage whatever shreds of dignity she could, Miranda chose to go for the bluff. Perhaps, if she exuded her usual confidence, things would go more smoothly. She told her brain that whatever happened next did not matter. If something came of it, then fine. If nothing did, then it would be over and she would never have to waste time on this foolishness ever again. Yes, good.

Except no, not good at all.

Miranda cleared her throat and took the few paces down the stairs and over to the couch as confidently as she could. She immediately felt more comfortable at the distance, pleased that although it was glass, there was some sort of barrier between her and Shepard.

"I wanted to talk to you, Shepard," she started softly.

There was a dry chuckle from the other side of the wall, "we've been over that, yes."

Cringing, Miranda tried to save face, "I just meant," she hesitated for a moment. "I wanted to talk about things other than work." She glanced over at the glass when she saw Shepard's head pop up in interest. "Personal things," she said, hoping her quiet voice did not give away her churning stomach.

There was a moment of silence before a startling clatter rang out, prompting Shepard to let loose a string of curses once more. While she had been focused on Miranda, the wings had fallen off yet again; causing the whole model to plummet and she hung her head in sorrow as once sturdy pieces were dislodged.

After taking a few seconds to compose herself, Shepard looked back up at the woman with a teasing grin, "No long lost brothers have been kidnapped, I hope."

Miranda flashed her commander a withering look that earned a loud laugh from the woman. "Okay," Shepard relented cheerily, "give me a moment to wash up. I'll finish this monstrosity later."

A flash of panic burst through Miranda's veins like a flood, she needed Shepard to be focused on something else. If she had the woman's full attention she would never be able to get anything out. Miranda wracked her brain frantically, desperately searching for another topic. Another reason she might want to be up here, speaking privately with Shepard. Of course, nothing came to mind that was even the slightest bit plausible.

Shepard returned outrageously quickly, trotting down the stairs with a happy jaunt in her step, blissfully unaware of the turmoil she was putting Miranda through. She plopped down beside the woman gracelessly, looking up at her expectantly, "So, what's up?"

Miranda turned away quickly, feeling her cheeks beginning to grow hot with embarrassment. Since when had she turned into such an idiot? She could have sworn that there used to be days when she had been proud of her intelligence. Thinking about that now, while in Shepard's room acting like a lovesick school girl with a crush, those days seemed like they had happened to her in another life.

"Uh," She paused and began nibbling on her bottom lip nervously as she tried to come up with something that made sense.

"Are you okay?" Shepard said suddenly, saving her from having to answer the previous question. The concern was more prevalent on her face now, as she studied Miranda carefully. Shepard had never seen her friend in such a state. Usually, Miranda was the most level headed and calm one aboard the ship, save for Samara and Thane perhaps.

"I'm fine," Miranda assured her with a trembling voice. "I just wanted to let you know that," she hesitated, "you've been a very good friend to me, Shepard, albeit an unexpected one."

Shepard seemed to relax at that, and smiled happily. The robot was just trying to express some human emotion and ended up short circuiting herself, that was all. These days everyone was feeling on edge, acting a little off. There was little left to do before they faced the Collectors, it was making most think about the more important things in life, family and friends. She leaned forward to place a reassuring hand on the woman's knee and waited until their eyes met, "You've been a good friend to me too, Miranda."

There was such affection in her voice, such warmth in her gaze, it was as if those things alone were physically pulling Miranda closer, drawing her in much further than she would have ever dared go. Shepard was unable to register the movements as they were happening. It was such an instantaneous thing. It was as though she merely blinked, and then suddenly, unbelievably, Miranda's lips were on hers.

All at once she was overwhelmed with Miranda. Her scent, her feel, her warmth. They were there for an instant, and then just as quickly the woman pulled away from her, breathing heavy and eyes wide. Shepard was confused for a moment before she registered that in her shock she had not responded in the slightest.

There was only a quick couple of seconds that passed before Shepard attempted to regain control of herself. It was quite difficult however, trying to do so while being positively befuddled and altogether disoriented. All the great commander managed to achieve was a rather unintelligent sounding "what?"

Miranda's heart dropped as realization swept throughout her body, and she knew how foolish she had been. She could see it in Shepard's eyes, it was written all over her face. This had not even been on the woman's mind; she never had even considered anything like this at all. Miranda wasn't even on her radar.

She stood up, impossibly embarrassed. "Sorry," she later remembered saying. Or was it, "I should go"? Something. She had said something as she fled the scene. What? She wasn't sure. But what had come out of her mouth were definitely words. Probably.

Shepard watched the woman leave without moving an inch. She probably would have tried to do something if she were able. It was just too hard to think with all the noise rampaging through her mind. There was too much going on, and at the same time all too little. It was 'Miranda kissed you', but also '_Miranda kissed_ _you_', which didn't make any sense at all. But also it did.

Yup, Shepard's brain was fried, and all she could whisper into her empty room was a couple of words.

"Wait, but what?"


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: heh, this is a tad awkward because I feel like people are expecting startling and dramatic realizations after last chapter…. um, so this is a Shepard centric chapter for the most part (of course there is a wee bit of Miranda here and there). I hope it remains enjoyable to you all. I tried to keep it fairly light hearted and fun.

* * *

When Miranda heard the familiar sound of her doors hissing open she knew without looking up that her visitor would be Shepard. She had been preparing for this moment since she had fled the cabin the night before. Miranda sat at her desk, feeling confident. She had had all night to rehearse in her mind how she would react to the different scenarios Shepard could present her with. More than anything, she was hoping the woman would go with the let's-forget-anything-ever-happened-and-never-spea k-of-it-again approach.

Miranda reluctantly looked up to greet the woman, hands folded calmly in front of her to give off the air that it had just been a silly incident and she was quite disinterested by the whole situation. Shepard gazed at her intently, and Miranda had to try not to flinch as their eyes locked for an unusually substantial period of time. The Commander looked just a tad ragged, as though she had not gotten much sleep and was battling more than a few inner demons.

Finally, Miranda could not stand the silence any longer and broke it swiftly. "Commander," she greeted in her usual tone, "what can I do for you?"

Shepard looked taken aback for a moment and she pointed at herself, "_Me_?" She spluttered and thrust her finger towards Miranda, "But _you_?" She let her hand drop, _"What?"_

"Are you serious right now?" The woman finally cried. Miranda watched in awe as Shepard suddenly shook her head frantically, spun on her heels, and made a swift retreat out the door.

At least they could be adults about it.

* * *

"I don't know," Shepard sighed out for what Garrus counted was now the third time. "I mean it's _Miranda._"

He shook his head as he poked and prodded at the machinery before him. All of this human drama was really disrupting his calibrations. "So I've been told."

Shepard groaned from where she sat perched on top of one of the many cargo containers that littered the room, "I mean where did that even come from?"

"Maybe she just wants a quick fix and figured you would be a sure thing," he offered jokingly with a disinterested shrug.

"Gross, Garrus," Shepard said in disgust. She rubbed at her forehead in frustration. "I dunno. She hasn't been overtly sexual in any way. At least not that I've picked up on."

"Because you are _so_ good on picking up on sexual advances," He chuckled as he continued his work.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She cried out defensively.

"That green lady, Shiala," he murmured.

"Hey, I didn't _not_ pick up on that, I was just surprised. I didn't really have time to respond."

"Kelly," he added.

"Kelly likes everyone. She wants to tenderly hold you close, big guy."

He considered that for a moment. "Fair enough. Liara."

"Liara liked me?" Shepard's eyes widened.

"Kaidan," Garrus continued without responding.

"_Kaidan _liked me? What?" her voice travelled up an octave.

"I think Ashley had a bit of a girl crush," he said conversationally, "though she would obviously never act on it. Nobody says 'skipper' like that when they're not interested on some level."

Shepard's mouth flopped open and close like a gasping fish. "Why didn't you say something?"

"They were saying enough," he defended dismissively. "When you treat everyone like your best friend you're bound to push some boundaries."

"I can't believe it," Shepard whispered.

"Jack would probably have sex with you if you asked her," he added unhelpfully.

"Okay, that's enough, Garrus. One problem at a time." She ran a hand through her hair, mind racing. Shepard couldn't believe this, she had not been aware of what was happening at all. She had wanted these people to feel comfortable with her, to relax and try to enjoy themselves whenever they were able. They were her friends, her family. It was just so unexpected.

Garrus watched as nameless emotions tore across his friend's face, and he took pity on the woman. He stepped away from his work for a moment to finally give her his full attention. "So what are you going to say to her?"

"Jack?" Shepard questioned incredulously.

He laughed. "Miranda."

"Oh," She hesitated for a few moments. "I don't know. I mean, she's _Miranda_."

He groaned, "And we're back to this again. Listen, Shepard, do you like her?"

The woman seemed to seriously consider it for a moment. "I mean, yeah. Ever since we went to save her sister we've been getting on really well. I enjoy spending time with her."

"Okay, well it looks like you can go either way on this. It's up to you, Shepard."

She practically whimpered, "I can't handle this. It's too weird."

"Shepard," Garrus sighed, exasperated, "I was kidding about the sex thing before. I'll admit she isn't my favorite person in the universe, but I do think she genuinely cares for you."

"You do?"

"Are we seriously having this conversation?" He moaned. Shepard gave him a pleading look. "Fine, it just makes sense okay? From what you told me it sounds like she has spent her whole life surrounded by a bunch of assholes that pretended to care about her so they could take whatever they needed. Now she knows you, and you are being friendly and kind and asking her questions. You clearly don't expect anything out of it except for learning about her on a deeper level. Obviously she's going to be drawn to that."

Shepard started at him for a moment. "That was surprisingly deep, Garrus."

He shifted about self consciously. "Yeah, well," he brought a finger up to tap the mangled portion of his cheek, "I'm not just a pretty face."

She laughed warmly, "I suppose not."

"Now go away before you start making me braid your hair," Garrus grumbled. "And next time you're having lady problems go bother Tali, I'm not cut out for stuff like this."

Shepard stood and awkwardly rubbed at the back of her neck, clearly feeling embarrassed. "Hey, uh, don't mention this to anyone. I don't think Miranda would appreciate it too much."

"Shepard," he responded with a scoff as he turned back to his work, "do you realize I am already trying my hardest to pretend this conversation never happened?"

"Thanks, Garrus," Shepard responded affectionately as she backed out of the door.

He was only able to grumble an unintelligible reply as he was already far too engrossed in his calibrating.

* * *

Shepard returned to the room without thinking too hard about the subject. She needed to see Miranda again, wanted to speak with her about anything really. Obviously she found Miranda attractive physically, but not in the sense of a potential relationship beyond friendship. In all honesty, them moving forward and pursuing something more intimate together had been the furthest thing from her mind, she needed to see the woman again from this new perspective.

She wondered if she had thought on this as a possibility before Miranda had acted, if she would have been interested or not. It was too difficult. Miranda was so very straightedge and incredibly focused. Beyond Oriana, Shepard had not really envisioned the woman having much of a personal life at all. To try and change that perception now was near impossible. Yes, Shepard knew she needed to spend more time with Miranda before she could work out just how she felt about this new development. The only problem was, it looked like it was going to turn out to be an awkward and frustrating venture.

"Hi," Shepard greeted lamely as she moved up to the desk.

"Hi." Miranda sounded infinitely more confident than Shepard felt.

"I don't really know what to say," Shepard finally laughed out with embarrassment when it was apparent Miranda was waiting for her to continue. "Probably should have thought about that before I came in here, huh?"

Apparently, Miranda did not find that statement quite as amusing as she met Shepard's eyes without so much as a smile. Shepard frowned as a sense of déjà vu swept over her. Miranda was staring up from her desk, looking guarded and disinterested, something Shepard hadn't felt from her in quite some time now. It was almost like they had regressed, she realized suddenly. It was back to being like the early days of their relationship, the ones that had been full of suspicion and frustration.

"Shepard, don't worry about it," Miranda finally responded, choosing each word carefully. She hated having to do it, as most often she was in the right, but she reluctantly accepted an apology was in order."I'm sorry about what I did, it was out of line. I hope this does not negatively impact our working relationship moving forward." At least the last part was true.

Shepard looked hurt. "Hey now, come on. Don't get like that on me."

"Like what?" she questioned defiantly despite her earlier intentions to remain as composed as possible.

"All Cerberus-y," Shepard said with disdain as she gestured towards the woman. "I want to talk to you for real." It was almost a plea.

"Considering the circumstances," Miranda responded frigidly, "I hardly think an emotional heart to heart would be appropriate. We need to focus on moving forward against the Collectors. There's no point in wasting time building relationships beyond that."

Shepard shook her head with a bitter laugh. She seemed almost disappointed. Not in the situation, no, but in Miranda herself. "That's not the impression I got last night." It was a clear challenge.

Miranda's eyes narrowed. It had been a long time since she had felt this much emotion, this angry. How dare she? "I think you had better leave," she said in a hauntingly collected tone. "This conversation is over."

The words were so jagged, so sharp, a lesser woman would have been long gone had they been in Shepard's position. Miranda's gaze was murderous, daring the commander to disobey her order. Of course, Shepard refused to budge. She had learned quite a long time ago that Miranda's bark was far worse than her bite.

"No," she stated plainly, crossing her arms in defiance. "I don't think I will."

"Leave." Okay, maybe Miranda was a tad more terrifying than Shepard gave her credit for.

Shepard hesitated for a moment, weighing her options. When Miranda acted like this there was only one way to get her to open up, and that was to make her even more irritated. It would be a risk, as Shepard had no intention of damaging the bond they had already built, but in the end it would be worth it. At least she hoped it would be.

"I was told this ship was under my command. I believe that gives me the right to stand wherever I please."

Miranda's brow furrowed, and Shepard had the sneaking suspicion that if she did not tread lightly from here on out, she could wind up in a lot of trouble. "You're pulling rank." It wasn't a question.

Shepard merely nodded, leaving the ball in Miranda's court. Miranda contemplated leaving herself, but that seemed like the coward's way out. Plus, knowing Shepard the woman would just wait for her to return. The best way to get back at Shepard, Miranda finally decided, was to ignore her very presence.

"Fine," she said. "I'll get back to work then."

Shepard raised an eyebrow as Miranda turned back towards her terminal. She couldn't help but smile at the sight. Miranda may have looked incredibly focused, but Shepard knew she was at war with herself on the inside. Shepard considered the wave of fondness that washed over her as she looked on. It had always been there, she knew that much, but she had always believed it stemmed more from the fact that she found Miranda's whole outlook rather endearing than from any deeper sort of emotion.

It was times like this when Shepard found she really wished she had more experience in matters concerning the heart. Whatever relationships she had had, if you could even call them that, had been brief and for the most part exclusively sexual in nature. Working through the ranks of the Alliance was life consuming, and meeting with others soldiers one had formed a bond with on the battlefield was quite a common occurrence. Beyond that, Shepard had little practice.

Miranda bit back a growl of frustration, finding it near impossible to focus with Shepard's gaze so intently fixed on her. This was ridiculous and childish and really, with Shepard's track record of making a mockery of almost any situation, Miranda should have known better than to pursue anything at all. "Would you at least sit down?" she finally snapped in irritation, prompting a grin from her unwelcome guest.

As Shepard sat on the couch without a sound she mulled over her emotions carefully. Miranda was brilliant. She was intelligent and efficient, and had Shepard's complete trust on the battlefield. There was no question that Shepard enjoyed her company, as she found herself in this cabin often, chatting about things that were not strictly necessary simply because she desired to. The woman was cunning and witty. She could easily make Shepard laugh, though she would never admit to being funny.

Most importantly, Shepard began to realize as she looked on, she _cared _about Miranda. It was a strong feeling, one that was clearly on a personal level that stretched beyond simple camaraderie. She cared when the woman was overworked or ostracized. She cared when the rare instances of Miranda revealing some insight into her past occurred and she had to listen to the tales of manipulation and exploitation. Miranda was important to her, yes, she could feel that much, but there was something that was holding her back.

It only took a few moments of careful thought before it hit Shepard.

Cerberus. The Illusive Man. Miranda had more than proven her loyalty to Shepard, but when push came to shove, which pull would be strongest for the woman? Would Shepard or Cerberus win out in Miranda's mind? Things were going fine now, of course. It was actually Miranda's presence that had kept Shepard acting quite civil towards the Illusive Man, but she was under no illusions that the peace would last forever. Something had to give sometime considering their conflicting ideals, and Shepard felt that the time of altercation would most likely come when their mission drew to a close.

If they survived this mission Shepard had little doubt Miranda would be faced with a choice should they head down the path the woman clearly desired.

It was interesting, how much the thought of Miranda choosing Cerberus over herself bothered Shepard. Perhaps she was in a little deeper than she had realized. Perhaps Miranda was significantly more important than she had initially perceived her to be. Perhaps the connection between them was deeper than she had ever intended it to grow.

"Miranda," Shepard caught herself saying suddenly. Miranda glanced over at her, clearly more aggravated than embarrassed by this point. It made Shepard want to laugh. How easily Miranda could get riled up despite the image of professionalism she tried so hard to maintain. How quickly one could get under her skin if they knew just the right buttons to push. Shepard found she relished knowing those buttons.

"I-" When Shepard thought back on the moment later, she could not quite recall what she had intended to say next, only that it would have been life changing. It did not matter however, as EDI's voice was ringing quite loudly throughout the room.

"The Illusive Man would like to speak with you in the debriefing room, Commander. His tone implied urgency, I suggest haste."

Shepard could not help but laugh, the timing was simply too fitting. "Thank you, EDI," she said politely as she stood. Miranda's gaze followed Shepard carefully as she moved towards the door. "I suppose we shall be finishing this discussion later, Miss Lawson. You just," Shepard hesitated. She wanted to provide some form of comfort. "You just surprised me," she finally offered with a small smile. "That's all."

The air in the room was heavy around them. They appeared to size one another up for a moment before Shepard finally nodded and took her leave. Miranda released a breath she had not realized she had been holding. She stood up from her desk and sighed, all of the confusion and embarrassment and anger seemed to seep out of her along with it. Instead, she was left feeling rather drained.

Miranda moved to sit down on the edge of her bed, not quite sure what to think. Shepard's visit had accomplished little in way of easing her mind. It had not been a rejection, which was nice. Though, it had not been any sort of affirmation either. She fell back on the mattress with a loud groan; she _really _had messed up this time. This is why, she thought bitterly, she knew it had been such an awful idea to get attached to people.

If things went sour – _when they went sour _– it was going to hurt a heck of a lot more.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: A wee bit of game dialogue here. I changed some of it around to more efficiently suit my needs, but it should still feel familiar as the same thoughts are being expressed.

* * *

It was EDI, not Shepard, who informed Miranda she would be attending the mission along with Garrus. She was apprehensive to say the least; this was easily their most risky undertaking. It really should not have been too much of a concern. The Illusive Man had told Shepard explicitly that the ship was offline; the task should have been a simple retrieval mission. And yet, there was a deep pull in Miranda's gut as they travelled throughout the deserted halls of the Collector vessel. Something was wrong.

Garrus shook his head as he moved beside her. "I still don't know how my people took this thing out. It doesn't add up," he whispered quietly, clearly trying to keep Shepard from hearing his uncertainty. She needed to be focused. Miranda merely nodded in response. Whatever was going on they needed to be prepared.

Shepard was a few paces in front of them, looking about the wide open rooms with wonder. The ship had an almost organic feel to it, as if it was almost alive in its own right. "It looks like a giant insect hive," she heard Miranda muse quietly.

EDI's voice filled their com links. "Penetrating scans have detected an access node to uplink with Collector databanks. Marking location to your hardsuit computer."

"Thank you, EDI." Shepard murmured distractedly as they moved further into the structure. Every instinct she had was screaming at her to run in the other direction.

There was no way she could have known how valid her impulses were.

* * *

There was silent disbelief as they stepped out of the shuttle and were met with Shepard's entire squad upon their return to the Normandy. Miranda was more than aware of the accusing glances being thrown in her direction. That was not important however, there was only one thing on her mind.

Garrus attempted to break the ice. "And here I thought that I already had my betrayal and attempted murder for this year." Nobody responded.

Though she felt a tad self conscious with all of their squad mates in attendance, Miranda had to say it. She felt hurt and betrayed herself, but the most important thing at the moment was Shepard's opinion. Their leader had to know she wasn't involved, Miranda couldn't bare it otherwise. "I had no knowledge of this, Commander." Her voice was steady but there was pleading in her eyes.

"I know," Shepard responded simply in a tone that clearly implied the thought had not even crossed her mind. A huge weight was lifted off Miranda's chest. It had not even been in consideration for the woman, she seemed to trust Miranda implicitly.

"Oh bullshit," Jack spat out. "There's not a thing that goes on here the cheerleader doesn't know about."

Miranda didn't have to defend herself before Shepard responded in her stead. "Everyone on board my ship and on this mission was in danger, Jack. You know that. Does that honestly make sense to you?"

Jack scoffed and turned away, but didn't respond.

"So what now?" Garrus questioned quietly.

"I have a talk with the Illusive Man," Shepard responded stonily. "And then we move on so that we can help the people who need it." She placed a reassuring arm around her friend's shoulder and he nodded. "Like we always do." Shepard paused for a few moments, and then tilted her head towards the ceiling. "EDI," she called out suddenly.

"Yes, Commander?"

She smiled. "Good work back there. We never would have made it off of that ship without you. Thank you."

There was a moment's pause, but then EDI's voice rang through the debriefing room. "You are welcome, Shepard."

* * *

"Hey," Shepard greeted as she entered the cabin cautiously, unsure of what she would find. She shouldn't have been surprised when she walked in to witness the occupant working dutifully.

"What can I do for you, Commander?" Miranda responded without looking up from her desk.

Shepard bounced back on her heels uncomfortably. "I just, uh, wanted to see how you were doing."

Miranda merely gave her a quizzical look in response; she had hardly taken any hits at all during the mission, let alone been significantly injured. "You know," Shepard explained further at the obvious confusion, "with everything that happened. I just figured it would have been difficult to accept."

The Illusive Man's apparent betrayal, Miranda realized then. She should have known this is what Shepard would want to focus on. "No," Miranda stated simply, focusing back on her work dismissively. It was a clear invitation for Shepard to see herself out.

Of course, she didn't pay it any mind. "No?" she questioned incredulously.

"No," Miranda repeated with conviction. "As of yet there has been no information presented to me about the event to accept, so it would hardly do for me to find anything difficult about the situation."

Shepard stared at her blankly. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Miranda was taken aback. Shepard rarely cursed, and when she did it was most always done in jest. "Excuse me?"

"You are seriously going to defend him on this." There was no question in her voice.

"I was only stating that until I have personally questioned him on the matter I would be better off not making any snap judgments." Miranda shot back smoothly, wondering where the sudden creeping sensation of guilt crawling up from the pit of her stomach had come from.

"Well I did just personally question him and let me tell you, Miranda, there was no reason for us to go through that mess other than the fact that he's a fucking asshole," Shepard responded coolly.

Miranda hesitated for a few moments. Deep down she already knew what had happened, how she felt about it. It was just so much easier, this, remaining blissfully ignorant until the truth was spelled out. She could not ignore this breach of trust forever though, and she had to know despite how much her heart protested otherwise. "What did he say?" she finally questioned quietly.

"A whole lot of bullshit," Shepard spat out with venom.

"Shepard…" Miranda said warningly as she shook her head almost sadly.

Shepard softened at that. She was being an ass. The reason she had even came in the room was to offer comfort, and there she was letting her anger get the better of her and making Miranda feel the need to get defensive in the process.

"Miranda, he could have gotten you killed," she said softly, keeping her voice free of accusation concerning the woman before her. "Is there any reason he could give that could possibly make that okay?"

"Of course," Miranda did not skip a beat as she spoke almost mechanically. It scared Shepard, how robotic the response was, how not Miranda it felt. "If surrendering my life could benefit others-"

"Don't say that," Shepard sighed out in frustration. "There is no excuse for practically sacrificing people like this. There's always another way." She spoke with honest conviction, and Miranda knew that those were not merely inspirational words to rally the crew like they were for so many other military officers. The woman genuinely believed them.

"Except when there isn't," Miranda whispered back smoothly.

Shepard all but growled. "You are the most frustrating-" she remembered herself then, and abruptly cut herself short. With a shake of her head she moved towards the door. "Forget it. I need to go talk to my team, tell them why this happened, and apparently pretend I'm okay with it."

"Shepard, I didn't mean-" Miranda looked almost pained. This is what Shepard had anticipated, moments like this. Moments where Miranda's heart and mind and loyalty would be warring within herself, causing a physical ache. "I just meant I needed to know what happened before…" Miranda trailed off. Before what? Before she took a side?

Shepard gave her a hard look. "Well then I suppose you had better come to our little meeting then, huh?"

* * *

As the crew trailed out of the debriefing room, looking angry and unconvinced, Miranda stayed behind, her emotions unreadable. Shepard hated having such insight into what was most likely going on in the woman's mind. She wondered if this was the very first time the Illusive Man's actions had proven that he deemed her expendable, or if this was something Miranda had faced before.

Honestly, Shepard wasn't sure which option was worse.

"Now will you tell me?" She heard herself asking as soon as they were alone.

Miranda glanced up, clearly confused. Her eyes were swimming, not with tears, but with pure emotion and her arms were crossed tightly across her chest in an obviously defensive gesture. Her hurt was tangible.

"If you're okay," Shepard explained further.

A bitter smile graced Miranda's beautiful features. "I'm always okay."

* * *

"Do you think you would have stayed if it wasn't for Oriana?" Shepard questioned earnestly. She tried her hardest not to give away how invested she was in the answer.

Miranda shook her head from where she sat next to Shepard on her couch, clearly thinking carefully about the answer. "I just don't know," she admitted at length.

With a sigh, Shepard reluctantly nodded. They had been conversing in Miranda's cabin for quite some time now, having made their way into the room shortly after the meeting had ended. Shepard was surprised when Miranda allowed her to follow her back to her quarters, pleasantly so. She knew Miranda well enough now to understand that often the woman desired space in times of turmoil, and was glad that in this case at least, she seemed to be the exception to the rule.

"I won't lie to you, Shepard. There are things I enjoy about working with Cerberus." She glanced away, feeling almost ashamed. "As much as I know you want me to say it, I can't tell you my affiliation with them is merely out of gratitude and selflessness."

Shepard was silent for a moment, and there were a few heart wrenching seconds when Miranda feared the woman might merely stand up and leave. She didn't however, and instead asked quite calmly, "What things?" There was no judgment in her voice, only curiosity.

"I," Miranda hesitated. "When I'm working I feel so free, like there are no limits to what I can accomplish. Cerberus never tells me something is impossible. They give me the resources I need and tell me to do it."

Miranda was more than a little surprised to see the small smile that passed along Shepard's lips as she nodded in understanding. "That sounds like you," she said warmly as she tentatively reached out for Miranda's hand. Shepard's expression was unreadable as she stared down at her loose hold, running her thumb absently over and over again along the top of Miranda's glove. She appeared as uncertain of her actions as Miranda was.

There was silence between them for quite a significant period of time. Miranda sat as still as she could, too nervous to move or speak despite the urge she felt to close the distance between them. Whatever happened next was Shepard's prerogative, not hers.

"I'm sorry," the woman finally admitted, eyes still focused intently on the hand she grasped in her own. "I've been pushing you so hard on this because of my personal experiences and views. I never took into consideration your own motivations all those times I tried to change your mind." Miranda's heart nearly melted at the admission. Shepard looked up quickly. "Of course that doesn't mean I'll be stopping anytime soon," she teased gently.

They laughed together at that, eyes meeting in an affectionate gaze. Suddenly feeling quite warm, Miranda gently pulled her hand away and leaned back against the couch. "About before," she said softly, the residual embarrassment of what she had done heating her face once more. "I truly am sorry, Shepard. I don't know if it was just stress or I just needed to blow off some steam or…" she trailed off and looked down at her hands resting in her lap, self consciousness creeping in once again. She knew damn well what it was.

Shepard chuckled. "Or maybe you care about me, Miranda," she offered slyly. Miranda's head jerked up to meet Shepard's gaze of its own accord. "The same way I care about you." The words were said so calmly, so nonchalantly, Miranda was afraid she had misheard them.

When Shepard saw the uncertainty in Miranda, the disbelief in her eyes, it only cemented in her the desire to initiate more in their relationship. A wave of emotion flooded through her because this was Miranda. _She _was the good one. _She _was the one that deserved to be treasured and cherished. The universe was certainly a backwards place when Miranda Lawson was looking so taken aback at the idea that there could be somebody that might desire to be with her.

Shepard grasped both of the woman's hands in her own and gently tugged Miranda closer. Their foreheads bumped gently, and Miranda's eyes were wide and brimming over with anxiety. "Shepard," she whispered, finding herself being drawn in despite herself. "We shouldn't…" she trailed off, unable to focus on speech when her senses were so suddenly and completely filled with Shepard.

"No," Shepard breathed into Miranda as their lips tentatively brushed for the second time, "we probably shouldn't."

They kissed.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: I did a sex thing without the sex. Yum.

Don't yell at me for the length, it just felt right. :)

* * *

It was a tentative process, as though both parties were still rather reluctant to expose their feelings so completely. It threw them both off, though neither would ever admit to it, being in such a familiar setting with such unfamiliar factors thrown into the mix. There were three stages of intimacy, and both Shepard and Miranda found themselves only experiencing two in the past.

There was mechanical sex, maintenance of the body when it so desired. Connect A with B to receive C. And then there was lust. A passionate frenzy of little emotional value. Searing flesh, clashing teeth, and the horrendous aftertaste of shame the morning after. Those were the ways in which they had been rehearsing all their lives.

But now, now there was this. There was respect and reverence, gentle movements and shy caresses. Every touch was laced with meaning, reassuring and encouraging. The weight of the air around them was near suffocating as it filled with whispered promises and frantic pledges. It was both leisurely and wild all at once, and Miranda found herself laughing more than she ever had in her life.

"Kelly is going to be quite disappointed." It didn't matter who said it. They laughed uproariously at that, because it was such a stupid thing to utter when one was so thoroughly imbedded in another person.

She had not known that this was how it could be. How it was _meant _to be. There was pleasure and satisfaction, yes, but there was conversation and humor. It was being comfortable with a friend and fulfilled by a lover all at the very same time. It was beautiful. Overwhelming. She never wanted to stop.

"Stay with me," Shepard breathed out huskily into her neck. "No matter what they tell us to do. We stay together."

It was impossible, it would never work out. Something would shatter somewhere along the line and people would separate and there would be heartache. These were undeniable truths, and yet, with Shepard's fingers dancing so deliciously within her, Miranda found herself making squealing assurances she knew she could never maintain.

"The mission," she had begun to protest at one point when thinking had not been so unattainable a goal. "Cerberus," she whispered in between Shepard's lips.

"Don't worry," was the only response she received before those lips travelled down her body, exploring every inch available, worshiping every dip and curve.

And Miranda didn't worry, because Shepard was there.

Shepard was there and their noses were bumping and sometimes the angles were awkward and occasionally their stomachs would make that weird little suction-y sound as they met. They were laughing, and being decidedly the opposite of sexy together, and it felt a whole awful lot like being in love.

* * *

A/N: There you go. We end it on a quiet note. I've gotten questions on this often so I'll just make a quick shout out here: I leave finished works as "on-going" for a few hours even after they are finished, just so people who do not follow it don't miss out on the end if they are still searching for it in the "on-going" section. I did not forget to mark it complete, no worries.


End file.
